A Wanderer From The Path
by jpdt19
Summary: What happens when a tomb raider stumbles accross the darker hidden side of life in Los Angeles. Angel/Lara Croft xover Wesley Centric, set during season 4 of Angel.
1. Prologue

**This is just a short prologue to this story. It's going to be an Angel/Lara Croft crossover, set during Angel season 4. I will probably carry on with it at some point quite soon depending on interest etc. It will be mainly Wesley, Lara centric. Hope people enjoy. **

**All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the rights or characters to Angel or the Lara Croft Movies. This work is written purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of any of my readers.**

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The alleyway was quiet, the calm of late evening broken only by the whirring of AC units, and faint stains of music drifting from an open window somewhere nearby.

Her footsteps were quiet, and as she walked steadily down the alley, eying the building numbers, she could hear the dull murmur of traffic from the street behind her. It was a wide alleyway, lined with tall warehouses, some of which had been converted into housing. Here and there pot plants grew, bright spots of colour attempting valiantly to distract the eye from high walls of brick. It wasn't that well lit, but the even though it was late evening it was still light enough for her to see fairly well. A few buildings had lights in their windows, but most appeared to be empty. From the faded hoardings, it appeared that some company had part partially developed the alley, in the hope it would prove a popular spot. Judging by the seemingly abandoned construction materials, and the empty unfinished shells of several half converted warehouses, they had been mistaken. Either the company had gone bust, or there was some other reason for the work being halted.

Pausing for a moment to consult the address she had jotted down during her phone call with Bryce, she thought she heard a melody she recognised. Glancing up, she saw that she stood next to number 47. As she set off again down the alleyway the music grew louder, until she reached number 53. It stood half way down the alley, seemingly tacked on the end of a long line of brick warehouses. Just beyond it there was the entrance to a small side street. She stopped in front of the door, noting the fresh paint. From the looks of it, the building had originally been built as a small house or office, presumably for a guard or night-watchman. It was much lower than the tall warehouses to its right, and far more homely. It looked old, far older than most of the buildings in the area. Brightly polished numerals on the door gave the number, and a small bronze plaque listed the name of the man she had come to see.

The music was easily recognisable now, an aria, from Tosca. Her father had loved Puccini, and as a young girl she could often remember him playing it on the old gramophone in his study. She remembered the soft carpet before the fireplace, where she had lain so often, the familiar smoke of his cigar, as he sat back in his chair, engrossed in the beautiful music. Just above the door was a small round window, like a porthole. The brightly lit circle of glass was propped open on a catch, the source of the music. She pressed the doorbell. Through the door she heard a faint buzzing noise. She waited for a moment, then pressed again. Again came the faint sound of the bell over the soothing music.

Nothing stirred through the frosted glass of the small window set in the door. After a few moments Lara rang the bell again. Yet again the buzzer produced no reaction from within.

She tried the door, but it was firmly locked. It was a solid piece of woodwork, set in thick stone. If she'd really needed to, she was sure she could have picked the lock, but she decided instead to check the side alley for another way in. Plus it would have been rather, _tricky_, should Mr Martelli turn up back at his house and find her picking the lock.

As she walked around the building, she once again dialled the mobile number which he had given her when they arranged to meet. Just like earlier, the number rang and rang and then flipped over to voicemail. She closed the call, and then dialled the number that Bryce had uncovered. This time all she got was an engaged signal. It would have been a bit more reassuring, if she hadn't got the same engaged signal for the last 2 hours.

She walked deeper into the small side street, surveying the sidewall of the house. It was darker here; the tall buildings cast deep shadows which she guessed would never lift even in daylight. There were signs that people had passed this way before though, and then up ahead, set in an archway against wall, stood another door. This one was most certainly unlocked. Apart from anything else, a thin line of yellow light was projecting into the alley. It was the first thing she had noticed.

She drew nearer cautiously, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Combined with the lack of any reply to the bell or phone, an open door did not bode well. Trying to shake of the feeling of deep unease she gently pushed at the door. It swung open easily, casting a bright rectangle of yellow light across the dark alley. The light picked out a line of carved symbols in the wood of the doorpost. Keeping a wary eye out for movement in the alley behind her, she bent down, tracing her fingers over them. She didn't recognise any of them, although some looked like variations on ancient Sumerian. They were deeply cut into the wood, and as she thoughtfully traced a finger over one, she got one hell of a shock. As she touched the wood, she got what felt like an electric shock. For a moment she thought she heard low muttered voices, reciting words in a strange tongue.

She withdrew her hand hurriedly from the wood, more than a little disturbed. She had encountered things that defied explanation several times on her travels, but she had not expected to do so in Los Angeles. When a contact at the British Museum had pointed her the way of Senior Martelli, she had assumed that he was simply an academic. Suddenly she wished she had taken the time to enquire further. Assumptions got you killed, she thought ruefully, remembering the comments by Sergeant Lawson on the topic. Then again, he'd expressed it somewhat more colourfully. Pulling a small penlite from her pocket she carefully played the beam over the rest of the door frame. More symbols, along with a couple of crosses, pinned by nails on either side of the door.

She walked slowly inside, firmly ignoring a small voice in the back of her mind that was telling to run. "Signor Martelli" she called, voice raised slightly over the music. She found herself in a small backroom, two of its walls lined with locked cabinets. It looked like a shop. There was a glass display case along one wall, while to her right there was a long counter, with a till at one end. She surveyed the contents of the display case, taking in a number of ornate and beautiful forged daggers. There was also a collection of shuriken, a sizeable double headed axe, and what looked like a claymore, but far larger than any man could lift.

None of this fit with the impression she had gained of the man she had spoken to on the phone. He certainly hadn't mentioned anything about being a dealer in  
bladed weaponry. She gazed around the room, taking in the small heavily barred windows. It definitely didn't fit with her assumptions.

"Signor Martelli" she called again, as she circled round the back of the counter, heading for a doorway back there. There was the typical string of beads hanging down, but behind them to her surprise stood yet another door. It was made of dull metal, thick, and slightly ajar. As she pushed it open, she noticed with increasing apprehension that there were bloody finger marks on the metal. As the door opened the music swelled over her, its calm and beauty unsettling it that deserted house.

The room beyond was small, lit by a number of soft lamps. The walls were panelled in dark wood, into which were set a number of glass display cases. A couple of deep armchairs were pulled up in front of the fire, while in a corner stood a and wide wooden desk, its surface lined with green leather.

It wasn't until she walked around the desk that she found the body. She gagged, trying hard not to vomit. On the carpeted floor, now sodden with blood, lay the remains of person in the tattered remnants of a suit. The desk and overturned chair were coated with droplets of blood, but she hardly noticed them. The blood was nothing new, but the skin of the dead man was burnt and scorched all over. Strange markings were branded into the flesh of his back. He lay face down, so she, already guessing who it was, leant down and managed to tug him onto his back.

She let go hurriedly, unsure if she was seeing correctly. The dead man's face was covered in blue spikes which seemed to project from his skin, while his lifeless eyes still seemed to shine a bright red. Despite this, she recognised the face of Signor Antonio Martelli.

The cause of death was obvious; there was a gaping wound in the man's chest. Lara pulled back abruptly, retreating from the smell and sight of death. The music rose to a crescendo, and in sudden anger Lara yanked the CD from its tray, so that the room fell blissfully silent.

She slowly returned to the body, leaning down to press her fingers against the man's neck. He was stone cold, clearly dead for several hours. As she bent down, her eye was caught by a small light flashing under the desk. Stretching out her hand, it came in contact with a small hard object. Closing her fingers around it, she pulled back to reveal a mobile phone. Flipping open the lid, the small screen lit up to display a grand total of 20 missed calls and numerous messages. Scrolling deftly through the menus, she discovered the last call to be answered had taken place around 3:30 pm.

Less than 20 minutes later came the first missed call. Since the phone clearly belonged to Martelli, for she recognised her own number among the missed calls, that meant he had last answered his phone almost an hour prior to their arranged meeting. As he had failed to attend that meeting, it seemed likely Martelli had been dead for a good 3 hours.

Lara was just considering how she was going to explain this situation to the police, when she heard a soft _click_ behind her. Spinning round, she found a tall dark haired man standing in the doorway from the shop. What really drew her eye however, was the automatic pistol in his right hand, which was currently pointing in her direction. His eyes flicked from the body on the bloodstained carpet to her, and then he brought up his other hand, to hold the pistol in a firm two handed grip. There was another louder _"click",_ the unmistakeable sound of a safety catch being disengaged. The pistol barrel rose slightly, to point directly at her chest.

She tensed, not unsurprisingly. The competent way with which the man was handling the gun suggested it would be a bad idea to try anything even if she had been considering it, which she hadn't. She let the phone drop to the floor, and slowly raised her hands, with the palms facing towards him. Any thoughts that he might be an undercover policeman were rapidly dispelled as soon as he spoke.

In a distinctly English accent he said. "Keep your hands where I can see them! Now tell me, who are you, and what are you doing here?" His tone and expression were dark, making it clear he would brook no argument or shoddy answers.

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**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**


	2. Chapter 1

**All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the rights or characters to Angel or the Lara Croft Movies. This work is written purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of any of my readers.**

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**Chapter 2**

"My name is Lara Croft; I came here to try talk to Signor Martelli."

"Why" said her challenger. Interestingly there had been a brief flicker of something in his eyes, possibly recognition when she said her name, but the gun never wavered.

"Because we had arranged to meet earlier today, and he failed to make our appointment. When he didn't answer my calls I had a friend look up his address. I just arrived, no one answered the bell, and the side door was ajar." She stared at him defiantly, "Now it's your turn. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Wesley Wyndam Pryce. I'm an associate of Signor Martelli. His eyes flicked to the desk, then back to her. "I attempted to call him here earlier, but when after several attempts all I got was busy signal I grew, concerned." He gestured to the desk, where the phone hung off its hook over the side of the desk. "It looks as if my fears were warranted" he said in a flat tone, which did nothing to disguise the anger and sadness visible in his eyes.

The gun, which she had identified as a Browning 9mm semi-automatic, remained trained on her, the lights in the room glinting softly of the slide. "So you had nothing to do with this?" It was said flatly, but Lara sensed the man was prepared to listen to her. She relaxed by the tiniest amount, knowing that a rash move would destroy any credibility she might have gained. Then again, she still didn't take her eyes off the gun.

"No." She replied clearly. I've never even been to Los Angeles before. I came here on the recommendation of a friend. He suggested Signor Martelli might be able to help me translate the inscription on an object which has recently come into my possession." She said truthfully.

He raised an eyebrow slightly at that, and despite the cold anger still visible in his eyes, she saw a brief expression of curiosity cross his features. It was only there for a moment, but it was definitely there. "Who recommended Antonio?" he asked.

"A friend at the British Museum." she said.

"It wasn't a Mr Robert Morton by any chance," he asked, he asked to her complete surprise.

She shot him a questioning look, "Yes it was actually, but how did you know that?"

"We've met" he said unhelpfully. For a few seconds he gazed thoughtfully at her, dark eyes surveying her carefully, apparently judging whether he could trust her. Then to her relief he lowered the gun, flicking the safety catch back on and slipping it with practiced ease into a shoulder holster.

"Sorry, in this town one can't be too careful, Lady Croft."

Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "You've heard of me?"

"A little, your name was mentioned in the circles which I used to frequent." That was interesting, and tied in well with her theories on his accent and way of speaking. It was almost possible to trace his background by that accent. Upper class, clearly highly educated, probably Oxford or Cambridge, and quite possibly an academic.

"The British Museum?" she asked curiously, "Room 42?" she added after a moment's thought.

He shook his head, "none of the above, though I've worked with both." He crossed to the desk and knelt beside the body, taking care to avoid the bloody carpet. She also noticed he made sure to kneel in a place where he could keep an eye on her. Despite putting away his gun, he clearly was still wary, or at least, paranoid. Not that she blamed him under the circumstances. She was entirely unarmed either, she had a knife in her handbag, but she decided to leave it there for the moment.

She watched him close the eyes of the dead man, a strangely gentle touch. Clearly this man had been a friend. She realised he didn't seem fazed whatsoever by the red eyes of blue spikes protruding from the man's face either, which was very interesting.

"What is he" she asked. He looked up at her. "What do you mean?" he asked, looked slightly confused. "He's not human" she clarified. His expression cleared abruptly. "_Ah_" he said.

She didn't like the sound of that. In the way only an Englishmen could, that one short word had spoken volumes. A flash of concern crossed his face, which he swiftly composed "Antonio was a brachen demon, well, half a Brachen demon to be precise." He looked at her, slightly apprehensively.

"A demon" she repeated flatly.

Before he could answer, she heard footsteps behind her. "Senior Martelli" a voice called in an Italian accent. She saw Wyndam Pryce rise to his feet out of the corner of her eye, as she turned sharply to face the voice. In the doorway from the shop appeared a man, or what looked like a man. His face however, was bright green, with the same red eyes as Martelli.

He had sounded slightly concerned, and now he skidded to an abrupt halt in the doorway. He paled, or at least, he appeared to, it was hard for Lara to tell. His eyes were suddenly wide-eyed, and Lara knew with certainty that he had spotted the body. He gave a small gasp, and then a cry of anger and pain. Pryce stepping forward and she saw that he had drawn his gun. She guessed had drawn it involuntarily, for he held it loose by his side, but the _demon's_ eyes flashed to it and made the obvious conclusion. He yelled loudly in Italian, and fled down the corridor. Pryce began to follow him, calling out for him to wait, but it was too late.

Pryce swore loudly. "Who was that?" asked Lara. "Bugger," said Pryce aloud, "that was probably a member of Antonio's clan."

"Clan?" "Yes his demon clan, they live in this area of LA, Antonio was one of their elders." He looked very grim suddenly. "From the looks of it the fellow thought we were the killers."

"I presume that's a bad thing." enquired Lara, with a sudden sense of foreboding.

"Yes, Brachen's are peaceful people usually, but they are also very protective of their own. When they get angry they tend to be rather poor listeners."

Lara translated. "In other words, we should probably get out of here"

He nodded, but hurried over to the body. His eyes scanned the area furiously, and she guessed he was trying to fix the image in his mind. She watched his eyes dart to the body's neck, and saw him suddenly bend down over the body. He hurriedly reached out and pulled open the tattered shirt. She saw him wince at the state of the body, but he still managed to trace a pattern on the dead man's skin.

She saw suddenly what he was looking at. On the man's chest were the same scorch marks as on his back, but now she could see the full pattern. Three separate clusters of markings formed a triangle, in the centre of which was a strange twisted mark she didn't recognise. By the looks of it, neither did Wyndam Pryce, for he snatched a pen and paper from the desk and began to sketch it hurriedly.

Once the sketch was finished, he folded it carefully and crammed it into an inside pocket. He carefully pulled the shirt shut in a gesture of respect, and then he hurried for the door. "Follow me" he said as he left. After a moment's indecision she swiftly followed, catching up with him as he exited the building. He gazed at the same carvings that had mystified her earlier, and shook his head in apparent frustration.

As they hurried towards the main alleyway there heard the sounds of car. As they emerged into the main alley, a car screeched to a halt in the alley to their right. It was the opposite end from where Lara had entered. From the car emerged 5 large shapes, which came hurrying towards them. Pryce swore and pulled her towards the side alley again, but more shouting came from that direction.

He hurriedly reversed course, dragging her bodily after him. Shaking his hand free, she reached for the knife in her bag, pulling it free. Holding it, and eying the five very large shapes approaching towards them, silhouetted by the blinding light of the car behind them's headlights, she swore softly as she saw the clubs and swords they were holding.

She and Pryce were backing away sharply down the alley, back towards where her hire car was parked. Lara found herself missing the familiar weight of her guns on her thighs, and wished she'd brought something larger than a knife. She hadn't expected to do any fighting on this trip, which was only supposed to have been a quick day stop of in LA.

The five were soon joined by 4 others, who had presumably come down the side alley on foot. She glanced sideways at Pryce, and saw him flex his right hand. A long blade from his right sleeve, and suddenly he was holding a rather deadly looking short sword in that hand.

He held it by his side, and called out. "We had nothing to do with the death of your clansman; we arrived to find him already dead."

His only response was a loud growl from the approaching demons, and they surged forward.

Lara set of at a run down the alley away from them, Wyndam Pryce right on her heels. As she ran, she wondered idly why people in Los Angeles seemed to have such a preoccupation with swords and bladed weapons. This was supposed to be America; surely gang members here used guns.

A quick glance over her shoulder showed that their pursuers were gaining on them. The alley was dark now, but as they ran one their pursuers passed through a spot of light cast by a brightly lit window. It was a terrifying figure, the eyes blazed red, the face bright green and lined with blue spikes; the face was contorted into a rage of anger. Lara sped up.

About 30 seconds later, breathing hard, they neared the end of the alley. As she ran, Lara searched in her pockets for the key to her hire car. Her fingers closed around the plastic and metal, and she pulled it free. "I've got a car" she shouted, "its parked just to the left."

Accordingly the pair of them angled left a as they left the alley, and as Lara sped along the pavement she triggered a button on the key. A pair of lights flashed welcomingly on sleek Mercedes 3 cars ahead as the car unlocked. Snatching a glance over her shoulder, she saw their pursuers spill out of the alley behind them, and after a brief pause, start after them.

As they reached the car, Lara pulled over the driver's door and in a rush slid behind the wheel. Across from her, the other door was pulled open and Wyndam Pryce dived into the soft leather seat, sword in hand. As he pulled his door shut Lara, who already had hers closed and the engine running, shoved the car into gear. The engine roared as Lara accelerated out of the parking place, pulling the Mercedes into a tight curve. As the powerful car swung round onto the wrong side of the street, headlights blazing, a number of figures rushed across the empty road, heading for them. A hurled club impacted with a bang on the roof, and then they were past, their pursuers falling easily behind. Breathing heavily, Lara swung the car back onto the proper side of the road, and saw the speedometer reach 70 miles an hour. To her right, her companion flicked a wrist, and with a click, his sword retracted smoothly into his sleeve. As the street lights flashed past, Lara tried to make sense of all that had just happened.

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**Well here it is chapter 2**

Hope you liked it. This is my first attempt at an Angel story so any constructive feedback is much appreciated. So please do review!!

**It's not hard, if you're going to take the time to read it, then please be polite enough to actually review. It's not difficult people.**


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